


Snow Day with the Scavengers

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Series: Winter Fic Exchanges! [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fulcrum is not happy, Gen, Misfire's version of a trust fall, Sledding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulcrum is not down with toboggans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Day with the Scavengers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eabevella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eabevella/gifts).



> Part of the TFsecretscanta2015 exchange on tumblr. I was making a gift for eabevella, who had a prompt asking for the scavengers. I hope you enjoy this!

“Hey, loser!”

Fulcrum hadn’t been on the W.A.P. for all that long compared to some of the others. He certainly couldn’t say he knew everything there was to know about “scrap repurposing.” But he’d been along for enough time to have picked up their general survival principles, and had come up with a few personal ones on top of that.

One: Never, ever, piss Grimlock off if it can in any way be avoided, and if you do, make sure there’s a doorway with a functioning lock between you and him.

Two: The ship is more precious than your own spark, and you treat it that way, until it’s a useless hunk of junk, in which case it is acceptable to kick it and swear and not even Crankcase will get mad at you.

Three: When Misfire wants your attention it is never, _ever_ , a good thing.

So to have Misfire barrel into the cockpit and grab him by the arm was more than enough to set alarms to flashing in Fulcrum’s helm.

“Misfire!” he yelped, struggling vainly to get out of the larger mech’s hold as Misfire began dragging him toward the door. It didn’t work very well. Misfire had a firm grip, and Fulcrum had the distinct feeling that if he tried to resist being dragged, Misfire would just pull until something gave, no matter what part of Fulcrum it was. “What—why— _would you let me go!?”_

“But if I do that you’ll just get away,” Misfire said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And you’re supposed to come with me.”

“Says who?” Fulcrum demanded, still wriggling fruitlessly in Misfire’s grasp.

“Says me, of course!”

“Could you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Hmm…” Misfire seemed to actually consider it for a moment, but when he turned his shit-eating grin on Fulcrum, he knew there was no chance. “Nope. You’ll just have to wait and see, loser.”

Fulcrum heaved a full-body sigh and slumped, though he gave one last half-hearted tug at his arm. Whatever Misfire wanted, he apparently wasn’t going to be dissuaded easily. If Misfire wanted to keep their destination a surprise, it couldn’t mean anything good for Fulcrum.

He hadn’t expected Misfire’s dragging him to take very long, but instead of pulling him into any of the cramped quarters or storage rooms, Misfire pulled him down the ramp and off the ship.

Sulam III was not a cyberformed world. At one point, according to Krok, there had been plans for it, which was what had led to the battle for it. When the battle had eventually expended more resources than the Decepticons ever would have put into cyberforming it, they’d abandoned it, but not before slagging what little of the living population was left on it.

They’d landed here not because they actually needed to, but because neither sides had bothered to collect the debris and bodies that had collected on the planet. If they were lucky, they’d find someone’s innermost energon, or some spare parts for their shoddy ship.

That had been the idea, anyway. Krok had taken the others out to search, and Fulcrum had been left behind with Crankcase to run maintenance on the ship and try and find the space for whatever junk the others had picked out. Fulcrum had even been having a relatively peaceful time rewiring the consoled of the bridge when Misfire invaded. Which, he supposed, was why Misfire had arrived. He seemed to have a radar for peaceful moments, just so he could intrude on them.

Like a lot of organic worlds, it had a high concentration of dihydrogen monoxide, and because the planet’s atmosphere had been wrecked in some way or another during the fighting, most of it was in small crystals that coated the ground in white. Fulcrum grimaced as he was dragged out to put his pedes in it—the stuff would start rusting him if it stayed on too long—but Misfire didn’t even seem to notice the layer of snow. He was looking down the slope of the hill the ship was perched on top of with immense satisfaction.

As soon as they were outside of the ship, Fulcrum began to expect that Misfire would start dragging him off toward the horizon, and was just about to call Krok with a warning (or a call for help) when Misfire stopped, so abruptly that Fulcrum lost his balance and nearly walked into him.

Even then Misfire didn’t give him the chance to catch up on anything. Without letting go of Fulcrum’s arm, he started kicking at a sheet of metal, one of several laid out on the ground.

“Um, Misfire,” Fulcrum started, but Misfire was so focused on his scrap metal that he appeared to have tuned Fulcrum out completely, except for his vise-like grip on Fulcrum’s arm.

“There we go,” he said finally, tugging at Fulcrum once again. “C’mon, what do you say?”

“It’s scrap,” Fulcrum said dubiously. It had almost looked like Misfire had tried to make something out of it, because one of the ends was curled oddly, but it was a metal panel, and Misfire didn’t have an artistic circuit to his name. Maybe it was supposed to be a prank, and it would shock him if he touched it, or something.

“Nooooo,” Misfire drawled, looking far too excited. “It’s a sled.”

“A what?” Fulcrum started to ask, then yelped when Misfire started moving him around once again. He was shoved until he fall, hitting the sheet of metal with a clang.

It didn’t shock him, at least. “Misfire, let me go—“ he said, trying to push himself upright.

Misfire, the slaghead, was grinning like a maniac. For the first time since he’d come into the cockpit, he let go of Fulcrum’s arm, and planted his hands firmly on his shoulders. “Have fun,” he said, in the most cheerfully Decepticon voice Fulcrum had ever heard.

Then he shoved.

The entire “sled” jerked under him, and to Fulcrum’s horror, he found himself sliding, metal sheet and all, down the hill.

Fulcrum shrieked, loud enough that it could probably be heard on the other side of the planet. He clutched at the metal sheet, but it only started to move faster and faster as the hill became steeper. He closed his optics desperately. It wouldn’t save him from any obstacles, but he was sitting on a piece of scrap metal with the steering capabilities of a raging Grimlock. The sickening motion continued until he fetched up against something that sent him spilling off into the snow.

Stunned, Fulcrum simply lay where he was for a while. When he finally activated his optics, he found himself staring up at the gray of the skies, which was enough to finally convince him that he was alive. He hadn’t felt dented or damaged in any way, which had made it hard to tell, but he couldn’t imagine he would be staring at anything so ugly if he’d died and gone to the afterspark.

Then he heard the sound of Misfire’s laughter, getting closer, which sealed it. If Misfire had killed him, he wouldn’t have followed so quickly.

Fulcrum scrambled upright just in time to see Misfire, perched on another of those oddly-shaped pieces of metal, sliding down the hill toward him. He came to a stop not far from Fulcrum and jumped to his feet, tugging his piece of metal behind him. “Fulcrum! What are you doing just lying there, lazy? C’mon, let’s do a second run.”

“A second run,” Fulcrum said, faintly. “Y’know, Misfire, I’m having a really hard time seeing why I should, considering you just tried to kill me.”

“What? Kill you?” Misfire’s expression was almost comically surprised. If it wasn’t Misfire, Fulcrum might almost have been sympathetic. As it was, there was snow in his armor that was being melted by the heat of his frame, and he was not impressed. “Nah, loser, this is for fun!”

A thud from nearby drew Fulcrum’s attention away from Misfire. He glanced up to see Krok and Spinister standing at the top of the hill where the ship sat, looking down at them.

Misfire perked up, and waved madly. “Hey Krok!” he shouted, pulling on his sled and dashing up the hill with long strides.

Krok was looking between the two of them with a mildly worried expression that Misfire seemed to have missed entirely.

“Krok, Spinister, you’ve got to try this,” Misfire was saying, brandishing the piece of metal at them. “Or, well, maybe not you, Spinister, it involves moving things that probably shouldn’t be shot at since they have your body on top of them. But Krok! You should try it. Look, I’ll even give up my sled to you, that’s how awesome it is.”

Krok did not look reassured.

“Krok,” Fulcrum said as he got to the top of the hill. “I think Misfire’s processor got water damage.”

“Hey, rude!” Misfire yelped, whirling on Fulcrum. “There’s nothing wrong with my processor—hey, did you leave your sled at the bottom?”

Fulcrum turned and looked down the hill by way of answer, and Misfire made a rude sound. “You’re supposed to bring it up so we can slide down again,” he explained earnestly.

“Once was more than enough for me,” Fulcrum said, shuddering at the thought of that first lurch when Misfire had pushed him.

“Spoilsport,” Misfire grumbled, shoving his scrap of metal end up in the snow and trudging back down the hill.

Krok just sighed and turned toward the ship. “Crankcase, any idea what this is about?”

Fulcrum glanced toward the ship and jumped. There, standing on the ramp, were Crankcase and Grimlock.

“When did you get out here?” Fulcrum demanded shakily. Crankcase might be able to move without complaining occasionally, but being snuck up on by Grimlock was really something else. Maybe _he_ was the one with water damage to the processor.

“When Misfire started dragging you out,” Crankcase said, which ruled out the water damage. It still brought up the question of how Fulcrum had managed not to notice Grimlock for so long, though.

“You guys are no fun,” Misfire told them as he got back to the hope of the hill.

“We can have fun after we’ve worked,” Krok said. “So, Misfire, what did you find?”

Misfire abruptly looked very shifty. “Well, I, uh…”

“As soon as you’ve brought in a haul, you can go back to this sledding thing,” Krok said, picking up what looked like a generator from his own pile of junk. “Now, we leave when the sun sets, remember?”

“Aw, what?” Misfire yelped. “You didn’t say that before!”

“I did, you just weren’t listening,” Krok said, straight-faced. Fulcrum could hear the sound of Crankcase snickering in the background, and Spinister was giving Krok a funny look, though he wasn’t saying anything just yet. “Fulcrum, you’re not finished with the ship’s wiring, are you?”

“No, Krok,” Fulcrum said immediately.

“Then get that done, and I don’t want to see you out here until it is, you got that?”

“Yes, Krok,” Fulcrum said. He could have fallen down right there and kissed Krok’s feet.

“But Krooooook,” Misfire was whining as Fulcrum hurried up the ramp.

Crankcase was scowling when Fulcrum joined him inside the ship, while Grimlock appeared to be caught up in the back-and-forth between Krok and Misfire. “C’mon,” Crankcase said. “Let’s leave this planet before our brain modules rust.”

“Fine by me,” Fulcrum said, as the sounds of Misfire’s complaining grew further and further away. “I think I’ve already got water in my joints.” Behind him, he could hear Spinister asking Krok when he’d said anything about sunsets.


End file.
